{"product_id":"life-is-so-good-isbn-9780812984873","title":"Life Is So Good","description":"One man’s extraordinary journey through the twentieth century and how he learned to read at age 98\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e“Things will be all right. People need to hear that. Life is good, just as it is. There isn’t anything I would change about my life.”—George Dawson\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In this remarkable book, George Dawson, a slave’s grandson who learned to read at age 98 and lived to the age of 103, reflects on his life and shares valuable lessons in living, as well as a fresh, firsthand view of America during the entire sweep of the twentieth century. Richard Glaubman captures Dawson’s irresistible voice and view of the world, offering insights into humanity, history, hardships, and happiness. From segregation and civil rights, to the wars and the presidents, to defining moments in history, George Dawson’s description and assessment of the last century inspires readers with the message that has sustained him through it all: “Life is so good. I do believe it’s getting better.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eWINNER OF THE CHRISTOPHER AWARD\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A remarkable autobiography . . . . the feel-good story of the year.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Christian Science Monitor\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A testament to the power of perseverance.”—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eLife Is So Good \u003c\/i\u003eis about character, soul and spirit. . . . The pride in standing his ground is matched—maybe even exceeded—by the accomplishment of [George Dawson’s] hard-won education.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Eloquent . . . engrossing . . . an astonishing and unforgettable memoir.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eLook for special features inside. Join the Circle for author chats and more.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A remarkable autobiography . . . . the feel-good story of the year.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Christian Science Monitor\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A testament to the power of perseverance.”—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eLife Is So Good \u003c\/i\u003eis about character, soul and spirit. . . . The pride in standing his ground is matched—maybe even exceeded—by the accomplishment of [George Dawson’s] hard-won education.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Eloquent . . . engrossing . . . an astonishing and unforgettable memoir.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cb\u003eGeorge Dawson\u003c\/b\u003e lives in Dallas, Texas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eRichard Glaubman\u003c\/b\u003e is an elementary school teacher. He lives outside Seattle, Washington.Wanting to enjoy every moment, I stared at the hard candies in the different wooden  barrels. The man behind the counter was white. I could tell he didn't like me, so  I let him see the penny in my hand. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Take your time, son,\" my father said with  a grin. \"You did a man's work this year.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Putting his hand on my shoulder, he said  to the store clerk, \"He's all of ten years, but the boy crushed as much cane as I  did.\" Since the age of four, I had always been working to help the family. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I don't  know if it was pride from Father's words or the pleasure from a piece of hard candy  that beckoned, but I felt so good I thought I would burst. I had been thinking of  those hard candies since my father woke me before daybreak and said, \"Hitch the wagon.  We gonna take some ribbon syrup into town and you comin'.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When I went back inside,  the stove was going and Ma had a pot of mush cooling. We ate quiet-like so as not  to wake the little ones that were asleep on the other side of the room. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was happy  to see they was still sleeping for it was uncommon to spend the day alone with my  father. We never had much time to talk and I just liked to be with him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Two barrels  of cane syrup were tied down in the wagon. We sat up front. My father clucked toward  the mule. I wanted to tell him that I was glad he was taking me and it was going  to be just him and me together all day. Trouble was, I didn't know how to say that  in words. So under the shadow of my straw hat, I just looked over at him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Solid  is what I would say. He took care of us. We had potatoes and carrots buried in the  straw and salt pork hangin' from the rafters. We was free of worries. Papa was a  good provider. Someday I would be just like him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Must have been a couple of hours  toward town when my father nudged me. He handed me the reins and unwrapped some burlap.  I took a piece of cornbread with a big dab of lard on it. When I commenced to eat,  he started talking. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"With this ribbon syrup, we be out of debt and have some left  for trading. We gonna have seeds for cotton, some new banty chicks, and the fruit  trees that are gonna bear fruit next year. No one has the fever and we all be healthy.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Life is good.\" And with a grin, he added, \"I do believe it's getting better.\"  I liked it when Papa talked to me as a man. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The morning haze had long ago burned  off. The wagon stirred up a lot of dust that kind of settled over everything in a  nice, smooth blanket. It was good for the mule as the dust had a way of keeping the  flies off. Nothing else was said for the next hour, till we came around the last  stand of trees and to the rise above Marshall. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In those days, I had in my mind  that Marshall was maybe about the biggest and the best place there could ever be.  The hardware store had big windows that I liked to look in. I had never been inside  since I knew they didn't appreciate black folks with no money. I was partial to the  general store, but I liked to walk by the livery stable too. Once a man gave me two  bits to rub down and watch his horse for the afternoon. It was 1908, and I hadn't  yet seen a car. I had heard of them, but nobody I knew owned one. Papa said that  they didn't do too well when the rains came and the roads was deep in mud. Besides,  they scared the horses. Mostly, I just liked seeing all the folks from the big ranches  and the little farms like ours that was out on the boardwalk. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The cafe and the  barbershop was whites only, but I knew a boy that worked in the cafe. And I knew  some folks that shined shoes at the barbershop. I liked to look in those windows  too. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We never had no cause to go into the post office. But I pictured that one  day someone would say there was a letter waiting for me. I would walk past all the  folks sitting in the town square beneath the big oak tree. When I was inside, I would  say, \"I'm George Dawson. I'm here to get my letter.\" I don't know when that was gonna  happen but maybe someday it would. Marshall was a busy place and good things could  just happen. It was the county seat and that had to count for something too. At least,  that's what I thought then. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But at that moment, in the general store, when my father  told me that I could do a man's work, anything seemed possible. I remember everything.  I saw the white man frowning, my father grinning at me, and those barrels of candy  to choose from. I also remember everything my ears told me that day. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As I picked  up a piece of peppermint, I heard a commotion from the street. My father's gaze followed  mine. It was dark and cool in the store and the hot light through the doors caused  a confusing picture. There were people running, harsh words, and a lot of shouting.  Papa set down a kerosene lamp he was inspecting on the counter and run to the door.  I followed with the counterman behind me. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At first, out on the boardwalk, in the  bright sunlight, I couldn't see the faces on the street. I heard Pete's voice before  I saw him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It wasn't me. I didn't touch her,\" Pete screamed. \"Lord, let me go.\"  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I would of backed off from what I saw, but by then we was crowded up against the  rail. First time in my life I saw the white folks and the colored folks together  in a crowd. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It scared me. There was no more frown on the face of the white counterman  that was beside of me. His lips were set in a smile. Hate was in his eyes. Across  the street, in front of the barbershop, I saw three colored men frozen in place.  The white folks surrounding them had red, twisted faces. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They were screaming. I  had done nothing, but I felt them screaming at me. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Kill the nigger boy, kill the  nigger. They can't be messing with our white women.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Six men had Pete by the arms.  The toes of his boots dragged in the dust. His face looked up to the sky as he screamed,  \"I didn't touch her.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I knew Pete and knew that was so. I shouted, \"Pete, I'll  tell-\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My father's hand clamped over my mouth. His other arm crushed the air right  out of my chest. I read his eyes and then he slowly let me go without saying a word.  I knew it wasn't so, though. The Riley's cook had heard the whole thing; she just  kept on working in the kitchen and watched Betty Jo and her father. She was right  there, but they didn't even notice she was alive. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was scared about what they  said and I heard her talking to my mama about it. Betty Jo had gotten herself in  trouble. Folks already knew that she had a thing for one of the Jackson boys and  was spending a lot of time with him. When her daddy found out she was with a child,  she had a whipping coming sure enough. Her daddy was steaming mad and of short temper  anyhow. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Who's the boy that done this to you?\" her daddy shouted. Sally looked  at the belt in his hand. She was crying but wouldn't say nothing. She was scared,  and afraid to tell the boy's name, because she figured that her daddy just might  go off and kill him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, if you did this 'cause you wanted to, a good beating  will teach you right.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She cried even harder then. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, you got it coming unless  maybe this happened against your will.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her crying slowed and seeing a way out  of a beating she listened close. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Is that what happened?\" he said slowly. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Scared  as she was, Betty Jo could tell that the safe answer was yes. Not wanting to tell  a whole lie, she just nodded her head. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Damn. Was it that Jackson boy from across  the ridge?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Betty Jo, she loved him, or at least thought she did, shook her head  no. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her daddy looked at her hard. His face turned angry and he said, \"Was it our  hired boy, Pete? That worthless, lazy nigger! Did he rape you? Did he do this?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e To each question, she just nodded in the smallest way. The tears still flowed, but  he threw the belt down and stormed out the door. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"There is one nigger gonna pay  for this.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Pete was seventeen and the hired boy around their farm; picking cotton,  cutting cane, chores like that. He was a good worker. But he was smart and he knew  enough not to even look at a white woman. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I knew Pete since we were little. He  was older than me, but he treated me well. Pete was the one who swum out and saved  Jimmy Blake at the swimming hole. Jimmy had smacked his head on the corner of the  raft when he was showing off for us little kids. Everyone was afraid to swim out  that far, but he done it. Pete, he would do anything for anybody. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As I was growing  up, I didn't have any toys, but I did still own a baseball that Pete had given me  a year earlier. We had been at the pasture of a Sunday afternoon last summer. I had  helped to cut the field. A team from Tyler had come over to play some of our boys  from Marshall. We didn't have a real stadium, but we would go out and mow the pasture,  and set up table for a big Sunday feast and get together afterward. Pete played shortstop.  He was good too. If you wanted fast, you should have seen Pete run the bases. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The  score was tied and went to extra innings. In the eleventh Pete came up with a man  on first, two outs. He took their pitcher full count. And then ... and then he almost  hit a cow. It would of been a home run if we had fences. As it was, he got a triple  and drove in the winning run. I cheered and cheered for our Marshall boys, especially  for Pete. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was proud of him when the team gave him the game ball. He gave me that  ball and said, \"You practice with it, George. You'll be a hitter someday too.\" I  was awful pleased but I could barely mutter thank you when my mama nudged me. Pete  was my hero. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The colored couldn't play in the big leagues, but if they could I  know Pete would of made it.One man's extraordinary journey through the twentieth century and how he learned to read at age 98","brand":"Random House Trade Paperbacks","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301482221797,"sku":"NP9780812984873","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780812984873.jpg?v=1767731428","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/life-is-so-good-isbn-9780812984873","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}